Goodbye For Now
by Chirugal
Summary: Ziva spends Tony’s last night on land at his apartment. Tiva fic, Ziva’s POV, set at the end of season five.


**Title**: Goodbye For Now  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers**: _Judgment Day  
_**Summary**: Ziva spends Tony's last night on land at his apartment. Tiva fic, Ziva's POV, set at the end of season five.

**Author's Note**: Not quite sure why I felt the need to write angst!Tiva suddenly, but I did, and this is the result… Possibly a little OOC on Ziva's part, but hey - Mossad assassins need to break down every once in a while, too!

* * *

It has been a while since I have been in Tony's apartment. While he was involved with Jeanne I stepped back from his life, distancing myself, and the close friendship we had formed while Gibbs was in Mexico never quite repaired itself.

I wish I was not here under these circumstances, but some things in life cannot be changed.

"How is it that _I_ have to head out to my new assignment tomorrow, but you get a week before you're deported?" Tony asks me, heading through his cluttered, memorabilia-strewn living room into the kitchen.

"I have to make arrangements concerning my apartment." It is the last thing I want to think about. Jenny was a dear friend, and now she is gone. I need time to deal with that, but instead I must put my affairs in order and return to Israel.

"Agent Afloat. Could he have found a worse assignment for me?" Tony takes a bottle of amber liquid from a cupboard and pours a generous measure into a glass. Downing it in one, he holds the bottle out to me, and I shake my head.

"He could have demoted you to a desk agent," I point out.

Tony snorts. "Better that than ship me off to the middle of nowhere to play Sheriff for five thousand sailors, alone. The number one rule on a ship? No sex. I'm a hot-blooded male in the prime of my life. I'll die of frustration before I see land again."

"You will survive," I say, amused despite myself. "You may even learn that there are more important things in life than Little Tony."

"'Little' Tony? It's been a while since that undercover assignment we went on – maybe you've forgotten that my Tony is _far_ from little." The provocative indignation is classic DiNozzo, and I'm reassured to see the fun-loving side of him re-surface, if only for a moment.

Before I can spend any time recalling details about 'Little Tony', he sinks back into his subdued mood, reaching for the alcohol again. This is not good for him.

"How much have you been drinking since it happened, Tony?" I don't need to elaborate as to what 'it' is.

He shrugs, his expression carefully blank. "Some."

"More than usual, yes? Significantly more?"

His jaw tightens, and he stares out of the kitchen window. "You don't need to worry about me, Ziva."

"Of course I do! You are my part-" The word dies in my throat as I realise it is no longer true. As of today, our partnership is dissolved.

With a humourless smile, Tony takes another glass out of the cupboard and pours me a drink. My mood worsening, I knock back the alcohol, sighing as it warms my throat.

"You are my _friend_," I amend my earlier statement. "And I will not be here to protect you from drowning your sorrows like one of the heroes from your stupid Western movies."

Normally he'd be quick to jump to the defence of the movies in question, reeling off titles, release dates, actors and summaries without pausing to think. Today he remains silent, and that silence is more telling than if he had confessed to me how bad he feels. "Will you _please_ listen to me? It was not your fault."

"Are you just gonna keep saying that?" Tony snaps.

Irritated, I match his tone. "It is the truth!"

"You don't believe that, and neither do I," he says, pouring another drink. Frustrated, I snatch the bottle from him and place it on the counter behind me, out of his reach.

"Have I ever lied to spare your feelings?" I demand, knowing the question will not change anything. "You are not to blame for Jenny's death!"

He flinches at my use of her name. "Then why am I being punished?" he asks, his tone so quiet and defeated that I hardly recognise it.

This entire situation could not be more complicated. Tears sting my eyes, and I swallow past the lump in my throat, trying not to cry. It does not work – the past few days have been hard, and I have denied myself tears in order to focus on my job. Now I have no job to focus on, and although the display of weakness is mortifying, I cannot help myself.

Tony reaches out to me, and I let him pull me into his arms. I cry for Jenny, a close friend who died alone in the middle of the desert. I cry for myself, for the loss of a life I was so comfortable in, and the friendships I will be leaving behind.

Most of all, I cry for Tony, for his newfound bitterness and guilt, for my utter inability to get through to him, to absolve him somehow.

I let him hold me, trying not to think about the fact that I might never be this close to him again. When I calm down, he guides me over to the couch, waiting while I compose myself.

"I will miss you," I say quietly, looking him in the eye.

He seems a little taken aback by my breakdown – he has never seen me cry in the entire time we have worked together. To him, and to everyone at NCIS save for Jenny and Gibbs, I am an emotionless Mossad assassin, unaffected by the events around me. It is not true, and he is beginning to fully realise that for the first time.

He nods. "I'll miss you. Who'll threaten to kill me with a paperclip once you're gone?"

I have tried to curb my impulsiveness since I arrived in America. In this case, though, with mere hours until I may never see Tony again, I cannot help myself.

I kiss him, unsure what his response will be, but needing to let him know how I feel about him. He inhales sharply against my lips at the unexpected contact, but before I can draw back his hands are in my hair, and he takes control of the kiss. By the time it ends, I feel completely undone, helpless to influence any of the events in my life except for this.

His eyes seek mine, asking me without words for permission to go further. I lean forward to kiss him again, and he crushes me close, the intensity of his response fuelling my need.

I lose track of time in his arms, forgetting the despair of the past few days. Eventually we expend the last of our energy, collapsing breathless and sated against the couch cushions.

"Damn… that just made things a hundred times more complicated," Tony says quietly. "Now I _really_ don't wanna leave."

I have to admit that he has a point. I almost wish I had resisted the impulse, but now, at least, I can leave with no regrets, my curiosity satisfied if nothing else.

"I would not be here, even if you stayed," I remind him, and he nods resignedly, skimming a finger down my cheek.

"Guess not. But at least I'll have something to remember on those cold, lonely nights at sea."

We lay together until the sky lightens, sleeping, kissing, talking intermittently. At 0700 hours Tony sits up, and I with him. "I better start packing," he says.

We dress quietly, reality back at the forefront of our minds. When I leave the apartment, I will not see Tony again for months, perhaps years. It is something I do not want to dwell on, but somehow I know I will not be able to help it.

"Get in touch when you can." I hesitate, then hug him. Strange how I have spent all night with his body pressed against mine, but it still makes me ill at ease to initiate a friendly embrace.

He enfolds me in his arms, and all awkwardness evaporates. "Let me know if you're ever in the neighbourhood," he tells me, and from the tinge of irony in his voice I know he is thinking it is doubtful that I will ever be in the vicinity of a deployed United States aircraft carrier.

There is nothing left to say. "Goodbye, Tony."

"Goodbye _for now_," he says, with a trace of his usual bull-headed optimism.

I smile, though it probably holds more sorrow than amusement. "For now," I agree, nodding.

I step over the threshold, out into the hall. Tony's hand on my shoulder stops me, and as I turn his lips come down on mine, a final reminder. I lean into him, taking and giving a last measure of comfort, before stepping back.

He watches me, his eyes dark with fatigue, anxiety and desire. I gaze back, memorising his face, and his mouth curves up in a wry grin. Taking a deep breath, I turn and walk away.


End file.
